


Not Until After the New Year

by mm8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Broken Engagement, Christmas, Depression, Engagement, F/M, Fake Character Death, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, New Year's Resolutions, Texting, Travel, Violence, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Until After the New Year

John meets her the Christmas after Sherlock's suicide. She's nice, kind and extremely polite. She has long natural blonde hair and tanned skin from sunbathing at the beach. She works as a teacher in a public school, specializing in younger children with disabilities. 

All and all, Mary Morstan is nothing like Sherlock Holmes. (And that's just want he needs right now)

_\-----_

He's in Egypt scouting a lead near the outskirts of Cairo when his mobile phone makes three distinct beeps. Sherlock halts the camel, musses with his thawb and finds his phone to read his text from his brother.

> He seems to be moving on.  
>  -Mycroft Holmes

  
Attached to the text message are grainy black and white photos taken from a CCTV camera of John, who has visibly thinned and aged in the past months, with a young woman who looks like she's trying to be an American movie star. The first picture has them sitting together by the window at a trendy restaurant (her choice, not his) and John has reached out to hold her hand across the table. Another one is John and the mystery woman leaving the restaurant arm and arm. Sherlock frowns at the picture because his flat mate is using his cane once more. The final surveillance photo is of the pair sharing a goodnight kiss outside her flat.

Sherlock contemplates deleting the photos, but doesn't. These shoddy images of John will keep him going for a little while longer.

> She's of no interest.  
>  -SH

  
_\-----_

Mary likes kittens, newborn babies, and the color pink. Her greatest guilty pleasure is eating ice cream out of the carton. She goes to church every Sunday and donates her time to feeding the homeless at a local shelter. Mary's favorite authors are Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte. She can crochet, scrapbook and is an amateur photographer. Her cooking is phenomenal. In fact, they have dinner parties frequently with friends. 

They never get in arguments because there's nothing to argue over. Mary never raises her own voice. She is very clean, always picking up after herself. She puts her food in containers in the fridge and labels them so she knows what they are, when they went in the refrigerator, and when they will expire. She plays her music very softly so as not to disturb others. Mary has never looked at John's scars without completely adoration. She supports him as he walks and goes to as many therapy appointments she can.

Mike thinks she's quite the catch and that he's extremely lucky to have her. Greg full-heartedly agrees but John can't help but think that his smile is somewhat strained when he tells him. Bloody Mycroft has given him his full congratulations and compliments on his new relationship with Mary. 

In all retrospect, John should be happy. As he gazes at the perfect woman sharing his bed, he wonders why he's not.

_\-----_

Sherlock is putting the finishing touches on the grave of his latest victim, a cross made of stones over the pile of dirt, when his mobile beeps.

> You may want to see this.  
>  -Mycroft Holmes

  
The photos attached make Sherlock visibly frown, he lets his guard down for the first time in a year.

John is wearing his best suit. The woman is wearing a rather short designer dress. They're in Regents Park, he can tell because there are children in the background with souvenirs from the zoo. John is on bended knee, holding out a simple box to the woman, who looks surprised. When Sherlock zooms in on the picture he can see a ring in the box, it's a simple ring, but very beautiful. Sherlock studies John's expression…

His mobile beeps once more and his text covers the screen.

> Do you still think she is of no interest?  
>  -Mycroft Holmes

  
Sherlock smiles.

_\-----_

John sips his tea and watches the fire roaring. He's alone this Christmas. Alone in every way imaginable. Mrs. Hudson is out of town visiting her sister and nieces for the holiday so Baker Street is quiet and empty, the only sounds come from the howling wind outside making the old flat creak. 

Mary's gone. He broke it off with her a week before the wedding. He just wasn't…. He just couldn't…

John is lost. He has been since the moment Sherlock began his descent. His heart is hollow and empty, cracked and nothing but a certain miracle can repair it. For a year and a half he's faked living by going to work or being with Mary. 

But now John doesn't know what to do. He has too many scars that can never heal. 

_\-----_

Christmas comes and goes, as does New Years. John puts up his resolutions list up on the bulletin board at work along with everything else's.

1\. Watch less telly  
2\. Order less takeaway  
3\. Get a steady girlfriend

He doesn't mean any of them. He just wants to be polite. His real resolutions are written on a scrap of loose leaf paper in his hand.

  
~~Go to Sherlock's grave less often~~

~~Go to Sherlock's grave more often~~

~~Go to Sherlock's grave~~

One miracle

True, it isn't a feasible resolution but John doesn't care. It is the one that mattered to him.

Sherlock's grave has a layer of snow on it. John makes an effort to clean it since it seems that no one else will. He touches the engraving of the letters in his flat mate's birthdate, January 20th. Sherlock would have been… Christ he died too young.

He sets the piece of paper down on top of the gravestone and turns to walk away.

"Dr. John Watson, I presume?"

John looks up to see the man, military by his stance and haircut, who addressed him only a few feet away. "Um, yes. How can I—"

In a split second, there is a loud _bang_ , bird calls from the disruptive noise follow. John is thrown back to the snow covered ground, a familiar searing hot pain in his good shoulder. _Shit._ His good shoulder, his fucking _good_ shoulder! There's blood, tissue and a fucking hole from where the bullet entered his body. John groans and tries to apply pressure to the wound as best he can at such an awful angle, when the madman steps forward and steps on his wounded shoulder. John holds back his scream.

"You know," the man drawls as he begins to reload his rifle. "It would have been a pleasure to know you personally, Dr. Watson. An upstanding military man like myself. I can see it in your eyes. We would have got along like," he laughs. "Oh hell, that doesn't matter now does it?" He grinds his boots into John's shoulder and is pleased when his victim trembles. "Just know, two things before you die Dr. Watson." He squares his gun and aims it directly at John's head. "My name is Colonel Sebastian Moran and I _never_ miss—"

Moran never finishes his sentence, his mouth gapes open as he falls backwards, his heard now sporting a large hole.

John begins to hyperventilate. He's just been shot in his good shoulder by some madman, and now the madman himself has just been murdered in front of him. John is covered in his own blood and Moran's blood and brain matter. 

It's when he hears his name being called out in a deep baritone voice that he passes out.

_\-----_

His eyes feel dry and his vision seems blurry when he awakes. John can tell by the smell of the bleach and the rough feel of the bedclothes that he's in a hospital. It's when he turns his head to the side and catches sight of a pale man with dark curls that he thinks he's dreaming.

"John, your heart rate has elevated." Sherlock says simply, his fingers steepled together.

 _But you're dead_ , he wants to say. His throat is too parched for any words to come out. _I've gone to your grave nearly every day for a year and a half. I couldn't live, I couldn't breathe. Not without you._

Sherlock stands and comes to his bedside. His eyes bear down on John as he strokes his sweaty hair back out of his face. "It was just a trick, a magic trick." He leans down and kisses John's forehead. "But everything will be alright now."

John slips his hand into Sherlock's and squeezes, smiles and succumbs to sleep. His heart is still broken, but the first few pieces begin to mend.

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).
>   
> 


End file.
